oceans and stars
by suddenlyseekingsansa
Summary: Her future husband holds her hand between his, and he can hardly look at her any longer. It doesn't take long for a lion to sink its claws, it seems. Cersei/Ned AU, Ned is King.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Series of drabbles based on the "Robert dies in the rebellion and Ned takes his place on the throne" thing because I'm apparently unoriginal. Cersei's POV at all times, more of a character study than anything really.

[1/7]

Cersei is a few days shy of her twentieth nameday when she is betrothed for the second time, again to a man she has never met. The Honorable King Ned. Her throat burns when she thinks of him, the big brute of a Northman, and her hands quiver annoyingly the entire way east on the Goldroad. Casterly Rock was miles away now, the offerings of childhood comfort long gone. She must fend for herself now, for her and for Jaime.

Ned Stark disposed of Jaime as a member of the Kingsguard merely three days after his crowning, which in and of itself was an affair worthy of a common peasant. No pomp, no feast, no celebrations. Jaime's riddance was no different. Of course, Ned couldn't have a Kingslayer in the Kingsguard, what respectable man would? It infuriated Cersei when her brother returned to her, the newly reinstalled heir to Casterly Rock, stripped of his cloak. Ned promised him no harm and also his dead brother's betrothed.

"Why are you so angry?" Jaime teased, his hands digging at the curves of her waist and his cock stirring against her backside.

Cersei turned around and pressed her lips to the base of Jaime's throat. "Does it matter?"

He took her against the wall, sweat and desperation clinging to every inch of her skin, and when he leaves her, she cries herself to sleep for the first time in a very long time.

It's all she can think about on the way to King's Landing.


	2. Chapter 2

[2/7]

Cersei is presented at court as soon as she arrives at the Red Keep. So many eyes are focused on her every move, and she realizes she must get used to it now if she is to be Queen. Ned Stark sits on the throne, his gray eyes widening ever so slightly at her presence. She never lets go of his gaze, she stares sharply and with her brow furrowed. She wants him to feel every bit as examined as she feels.

Her shoes against the marbled floor is the only noise, the only one she can hear.

"Your Grace," she says, and she curtsies and bows her head, everything that would make her old Septas proud.

Ned sits forward on the throne, and nods his head. "My lady."

He is suddenly in front of her, placing his thin lips on the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room to feel how cold his hands were, how much they shook. "Your beauty is indescribable. Your brother told me many things about you."

_Before you sent him away from me so he can marry some Tully girl? _

"Only good things, I hope." She smiles at him. Her future husband holds her hand between his, and he can hardly look at her any longer. It doesn't take long for a lion to sink its claws, it seems.

Her handmaidens whisk her away to her new chambers. When she is alone, she writes to Jaime.

_I am the strong one._


	3. Chapter 3

[3/7]

Silk hangs loosely past her shoulders, the seam torn halfway, showing the delicate structure of her back. Cersei stands at the window, gazing at the remnants of her wedding feast down below. She drank entirely too much that night; her hands are sweaty and her cheeks flushed. Utterly unbecoming. Never would she ever admit to herself that she was _nervous_.

Ned clears his throat behind her. It's enough to break her out of her trance, but not enough to face him. "Your Grace," is all she murmurs.

"You shouldn't call me that any longer," he says, and Cersei grows impressed by his forwardness.

She turns to face him then. His tunic is unlaced at the front, halfway tucked into his trousers. Seeing the stern lines in his face, she understands that he was serious about it. All of it, she hopes.

"Of course. After all," she pads over to him, barefoot, and holds his face in her hands, "you own me now."

Ned looks troubled at her statement. Oh, the virtuous, dutiful Starks.

"My lady… I wouldn't… I wouldn't say that I-"

She moves a finger to his lips. "My name is Cersei."

He grabs her wrist then, gently, and didn't pull it away like she imagines. "Cersei… I am as much yours as you are mine."

She wants to laugh. His eyes, though stony gray, are soft and hold a flicker of sincerity. His other hand rests on the back of her neck, his fingers already threading through her golden hair. _Gods_, she would never get used to Northmen.

"Is that what you truly believe?" Her own hand trailed down his jaw, the stubble on his neck, traces the strong muscles of his chest…

"Aye," he whispers, and his lips are on hers, and suddenly Cersei is gasping and grasping at anything her hands can find. She tugs at his hair, tears the front of his tunic open. She wants him to know that she is angry, but she finds that every second she fails more and more miserably. She whines when he pushes her to the bed and presses his cock between her legs, purrs when he uses his teeth anywhere, and shudders when he finally enters her.

That night is the first night she comes without Jaime on her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

[4/7]

What surprises Cersei the most about her kingly husband is his devotion to his children. It's not what she was accustomed to growing up. She could have gone weeks without seeing her father if he didn't demand their presence at supper every evening. Tywin Lannister wasn't known for being affectionate. Any sort of physical contact was a rare gift; a pat on the head when she gifted him a needlework lion for his nameday, a hoist onto her horse, a kiss on the cheek when she left Casterly Rock for the last time.

The moment her first babe slips from her womb and is placed on her chest, slimy and small, she feels as if she were to burst. She is weak and shaking, but she can sense how fiercely she loves this little creature. She tunes out every person in the room. Her child is genderless and nameless and all hers for just these few short moments. The room is a warm blur, everything buzzing around her, all the handmaidens and midwives, yet the only thing she can concentrate on is the head full of dark hair resting on her breast.

She smiles softly. The babe gives out a short cry, and she accepts a blanket given to her by her handmaiden, the soft gray one knitted by one of Uncle Stafford's girls, and covers the tiny creature with it. _All Stark, _she thinks. Maybe one day she'd have a blonde little babe like she always imagined… there was always time, of course.

"Cersei." Ned's voice cuts through the void, her gaze finds his instantly. There is such a warmth in his Northern eyes, that pride begins to hum through Cersei's veins. He orders everyone to leave the room, and he settles himself next to her in bed. His hand raises to her face, cupping her chin, turning her just enough to place his lips on hers. Cersei presses her forehead against his, and is surprised to find it just as slick with sweat as hers.

"Oh, have you been fretting, husband?" she chides, wiping away at him with her thumb. He laughs nervously in response.

The bells are tolling now, ringing deep and sonorous. "I told Pycelle to have them rung until dawn," he says, "You have made a very happy man out of me, Cersei."

She kisses him again, and the babe mewls in protest of the sudden movement.

"We've had a girl, haven't we? Otherwise I suspect there would be many more people in this room now." She is disappointed, of course. Ned could certainly see it on her face, as he rests his lips on her temple for several seconds, and reaches over to run his fingertips through the babe's dark downy hair.

"We have many years ahead of us yet. Sons will come, just as I hope more daughters will as well," he says, and Cersei shifts to hand their daughter to her husband. He looks awkward, of course, this huge man with the tiniest babe cradled in his arms. She has to whisper to him that she won't break, and she can feel his posture loosen and muscles relax.

"What if I give you twelve daughters, hmm? Would you be disappointed in me then, Ned?" She says this in jest, but underneath, bubbling within her ribcage is that fervid fear, that concentrated blackness that pervades every council meeting or feast. An heir, a son, a green-eyed or golden-haired Stark prince. Ned grows tired of her sarcasm more often that she would like, and he sighs emphatically, reaching over to cup her cheek.

"Then after I am dead we will have a Queen to rule Westeros."


	5. Chapter 5

[5/7]

Eight years, hundreds of letters, and six children between them, Cersei can accept that Jaime is a changed man. The last time she held him in her arms, they were children themselves. She can't remember the weight of him, the way his thumb rubbed circles into the small of her back, and she hates to admit it, but she has forgotten the sound of his voice. Their letters are few and far between, always short and to the point.

It had been nearly a year since their last correspondence. She is accustomed to his absence now, no longer feeling that half of herself was miles away.

At breakfast that morning, however, Pycelle barges in unannounced with a message folded in his hand. "A letter from Jaime Lannister, Your Grace," he states. Cersei habitually reaches for the letter herself, but wretched old man ignores her advance and hands it straight to Ned.

Her husband waves him off, and unfolds it carefully. She watches his eyes scanning her brother's words, and is overcome by curiosity. "Anything of importance, Ned?"

"A new Lady Lannister, that is all," he says gruffly, but she can sense the smile hiding beneath the stern lines of his face.

Cersei smirks. "Oh?"

He tosses the letter across the table, almost playfully, and it lands just above her hand. She grabs at it hastily, some of the red wax getting stuck underneath a fingernail. She skims the first paragraph, all courtesies and cordiality, and then one word in particular, a name, catches her eye… _our newly born daughter, Cersei…_

Her breath hitches in her throat immediately. Refusing to cry in front of her husband, she rose from her chair silently. "It's a great honor to be someone's namesake, you know," Ned calls after her, and she turns to face him.

"Yes, I'm rather touched," she replies quickly. "You should invite them all to King's Landing in a few moons, perhaps for Joanna's nameday."

It's not hard to miss the smile falter on Ned's face. "Perhaps _you_ should invite them."

Cersei merely nods and exits their chambers, stony faced and determined.

_Is this how much you miss me, dear brother? _She writes to him that evening with a familiar stirring within her.


End file.
